by Bree Wolf
But I know in my heart that you must not give up. Don’t let her go, Alastair! I beg you for I’m certain you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.
Your loving sister,
Moira
Tears stood in Alastair’s eyes as he stared at the blurring lines written in his sister’s delicate hand, and in that moment, he no longer doubted her, he no longer felt any anger or betrayal toward her, he no longer wanted her gone.
He wanted her back.
“Are ye all right?” came Connor’s voice, now soft and quiet, almost fearful as his hand settled on Alastair’s shoulder. “Ye look the fright.”
“I need to go.” All exhaustion fell from him, and his body hummed with the need to move. Without another word, Alastair rushed out the door, folding up his sister’s letter before he settled it in his pocket, next to his daughter’s auburn curl. He would reach out to her, he promised himself as well as her, but first, he needed to go after his wife.
No matter where Fate would guide them, he refused to believe it would guide them down separate paths. They belonged together. They always had, and they always would.
What a fool he’d been to ever doubt that!
8
A Husband’s Claim
No one had seen her white mare−Aurora had all but vanished from her box−and so Deidre had reluctantly saddled the grey gelding, determined to seek out the ruins and finally find an answer to the questions swirling in her mind. She could not deny her curiosity, but she’d also grown weary of this mysterious prediction. She knew that it pained Alastair, and she needed to put his mind at ease. Only then would he be able to forget and begin again.
Only then would they have a chance.
Deidre needed answers, and she would find them.
Pushing the grey gelding across the snow-covered meadow, she looked toward the horizon. The sky glistened in a clear blue, welcoming the bright sun as it shone down upon the frozen world. Its soft golden rays lingered on the crumbled ruins in the distance like a guide shining a light to where she needed to go. Her skin prickled from the cold, and her breath came fast as she drew closer to the moment that would determine her future.
A neigh behind her drew her attention, and Deidre turned to look over her shoulder.
A rider was fast approaching, his blond hair whipping in the wind as he leaned over his horse’s neck. Alastair! What on earth was he doing here?
Pulling on her reins, Deidre slowed her gelding, bracing herself for her husband’s anger. Did he think she was leaving him? Nothing could be further from the truth!
Still, the thought that he’d come after her warmed her heart and she could not prevent a little smile from showing on her face. He loved her! No matter what he said he loved her!
Pulling his gelding to a rather abrupt halt, Alastair jumped from his mount’s back. His face looked strained, his blue eyes fixed on hers, as he strode toward her. Determination lingered in every step, and she saw his jaw tense with a fierceness she’d rarely seen. What was he about?
“What are ye doing out here?” Deidre asked, a chill travelling up and down her spine as he advanced, his steps not slowing. “Why are ye−?”
Her question was cut short when Alastair reached for her, his strong hands clasping her arms and pulling her out of the saddle. She all but fell against his broad chest, his arms crushing her in a tight embrace that had her feet dangling in the air.
When he finally set her down, his blue eyes all but burnt into hers, not the slightest flicker of doubt in them. “I willna let ye go, do ye hear? Ye’re mine, Deidre. Mine!” Then his head swooped down and his mouth came down on hers, staking his claim in the most primal manner.
Deidre gasped at the urgency in him. One arm clamped around her waist, holding her to him, while the other slid along her jaw and then down to her neck. His skin was chilled as it brushed against hers, and she felt another shiver dance down her limbs. Then his hand slipped inside her hood until it settled on the back of her head, angling her so he could deepen their kiss.
All thought fled Deidre’s mind as she clung to her husband, and heartbeat by heartbeat, the world began to right itself. Alastair had always been a man of few words, but the ones he did say held deep meaning. More so, she understood the way his hands held on to her, unyielding and yet gentle. She understood the desperate longing in his kiss and felt her heart ache with the same need. Her hands curled into his coat and she pushed herself up onto her toes, striving to be closer.
A low rumble in his throat told her that her response pleased him, that she’d given him the answer he’d needed, the answer he’d come out here to claim. His kiss grew gentler, slower before a sigh left his lips and he rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed, his warm breath brushing over her chilled skin.
“I love ye, too,” Deidre whispered, a deep smile tugging on the corners of her mouth as she looked up at her husband.
His eyes opened, their blue shining with deep intensity as he stared down at her. His hands still held her as tightly as before, not allowing her to move, to step away from him. “Ye left,” he whispered, and she felt his thumb brush over the edge of her jaw.
“I left the castle,” Deidre told him, needing him to understand that nothing in this world could ever make her leave his side. “Not ye. Never.”
Alastair glanced over her shoulder at the ruins in the distance. Then his gaze settled back on hers, a question burning there that needed an answer.
Deidre swallowed. “I need to know.” His hands tensed, and she gasped at the sudden pressure against her ribs. “I need to know what Moira’s vision means, and ye do as well.” Her gaze held his patiently as she waited for her words to be absorbed. “We canna go on not knowing. There’ll always be doubt, not in my heart, but in yers. I can see it in yer eyes.”
His breath came fast as he stared at her, and yet, little by little the grip he held her in lessened.
Cupping a hand to his cheek, Deidre smiled at him. “I am yers as ye are mine. That’ll never change. Have faith. In me. In us.” She rose up to plant a gentle kiss on his lips. “There can never be another. Never.”
A deep breath of utter relief rushed from his body as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, his arms holding her gently, safe and warm. “I love ye, Deidre,” he whispered, his lips brushing her neck, sending a tingle of anticipation through her.
Later, she cautioned herself. There’d be time for that later. Now, they needed answers.
“Will ye come with me?” she asked, brushing a hand up the side of his neck. “Will ye come and see for yerself what has been haunting ye?”
Again, his eyes met hers. “Ye’re mine,” he said once more as though to reassure himself.
Deidre smiled. “Aye. Always.”
9
The Old Ruins
Unable to tear his gaze from his wife, Alastair pushed his mount on, the ruins looming higher with each step they took. His heart ached with the need to hold her, to take her away from this place, this threat, and yet, a part of him understood the wisdom of her choice. They needed to know. He needed to know.
Sliding out of the saddle, they slipped their horses’ reins over a shoulder-high boulder, standing like a sentinel at the outer wall of the crumbling keep. Then Alastair drew his wife’s hand through the crook of his arm, needing to feel her, to have her close.
Deidre smiled up at him, her small hand brushing over the side of his face. “Dunna be afraid,” she whispered, snuggling closer. “All shall be well.”
Alastair could only hope so, wishing with all his heart that Moira was right, that what she’d seen would come to pass, that they’d find happiness.
Together.
Was there any other kind?
Not to his knowledge.
As they stepped farther into the old ruins, a soft nicker drifted to their ears and a moment later Deidre’s mare trotted into their path, her white coat almost hiding her in the bright snow-covered landscape.
“Aurora!” De
idre exclaimed, rushing toward the gentle mare. “What are ye doing here? I’ve been worried.”
Alastair frowned, only now remembering that he’d found Aurora missing before Deidre had even left the castle. He glanced over his shoulder at the two horses they’d left behind a few steps back, his eyes settling on the grey gelding.
In the moment he’d come upon his wife, his thoughts had been focused elsewhere to realise that she’d not been on Aurora. He looked back at the white mare, noting the way the saddle hung on her back as though not fastened properly.
Alastair strode closer as the little hairs on the back of his neck began to rise. Something was wrong!
“There’s blood here,” Deidre exclaimed, her eyes wide as she stared at the mare’s saddle. Then her gaze moved to him. “What is going on?”
Alastair shook his head, his gaze moving over their surroundings as he drew the sword at his side. “We’re not alone,” he whispered, his steps carrying him back to his wife. He grasped her arm and pulled her behind him as his gaze continued to search the snow-covered ruins. “There are footprints here.”
Exhaling slowly, Alastair willed his thundering heart to calm as he continued to sweep his gaze over their surroundings. His skin crawled with the threat that might be lying in wait somewhere nearby, and he cursed himself for giving in, for not stopping them from seeking out this place. “We should leave,” he muttered under his breath, afraid to see harm come to his wife. He’d only just gotten her back. He would not lose her now. Who knew who was lingering in these ruins?
Beside him, Deidre shook her head. “We canna. Something is wrong.”
“Aye, ‘tis why we should leave.”
Again, Deidre shook her head before she suddenly stilled, her eyes going wide.
“What?” Alastair hissed.
Her eyes met his, still wide and filled with… “I canna say, but…” Her gaze turned toward the small shelter where Alastair had come upon her the day of their guests’ arrival. It stood off to the side, its remaining walls hiding the inside from their view. Whoever had taken Aurora to come here, was this where they were waiting?
“Who do ye think it is?” Alastair whispered, knowing that it had to be someone from the castle.
Deidre shrugged. “I dunna know, but whoever it is needs help.”
Alastair frowned.
His wife’s warm eyes met his before she glanced at the blood-stained saddle atop Aurora.
Swallowing, Alastair nodded. “Aye, but stay behind me.”
Slowly, they moved forward, step by step following the prints left behind in the snow. As they drew closer to the small shelter, they found more blood droplets, shining brightly like little beacons on the snow-covered ground. Alastair felt his muscles tense, his breath lodging in his throat. He wished he could put his wife on a horse and send her back home, but he knew she would never leave. Her big heart would not allow her. He could only hope that the threat he feared was not one after all. That his wife was right, and they would come upon someone in need of their help.
Approaching the half-crumbled wall, Alastair drew in a deep breath, his muscles readying themselves for whatever might lay ahead. He gripped his sword tighter, then surged around the corner, exposing only himself.
The moment his gaze fell on the inside of the small shelter, he almost dropped his sword. His blood ran cold, and a piercing pain surged through his heart.
“Oh, no!” Deidre gasped behind him before she lunged forward, then dropped onto her knees, her hands reaching for the small babe.
Half-leaning against the back wall, Alastair saw a young woman. A woman he’d seen before, and although it took him a few moments to place her face, he finally remembered where he’d seen her. She’d arrived with their guests a few days prior. Miss Harmon, was it? Tillie’s and Jonathan’s governess?
Her eyes were closed, and her skin looked awfully pale. Still, he could see the faint pulse beating in her neck. A pulse that seemed to be slowing as her chest rose and fell with each laboured breath. A slight shiver shook her, and her lips looked blue, from the cold or the loss of blood Alastair could not say. Her skirts were stained dark red, her blood seeping onto the ground in a wide circle around her. It was evident that she’d just given birth, and it was equally clear that she was now standing at Death’s door.
As Deidre had a few years back.
Agony gripped Alastair as old memories came rushing back. Deidre, pale and almost lifeless, on the bed, his stillborn son in his arms. He’d been born prematurely, and Alastair still remembered how small he had been, almost fitting into the palm of his hand.
“He’s alive,” Deidre exclaimed, her words shaking Alastair from the stupor that had gripped him. She looked over her shoulder, her eyes meeting his for the barest of moments, before she once more turned to the infant.
Swallowing, Alastair crouched down beside her, his gaze travelling over the boy’s small body, his skin stained red with blood. Still, there was a paleness about him that spoke of a fight soon to be lost.
“He’s cold,” Deidre muttered before her hands reached for her coat, unbuttoning it. She pulled it off, then turned her back to him. “Open my laces. Quick!”
Stumped, Alastair did as he was bid, his fingers working with an efficiency that surprised him. A moment later, she pulled her dress half off her shoulders, her skin puckering as the cold wind brushed over it. “What are ye−?”
With a mother’s practised hand, Deidre scooped up the small babe and settled him against her chest, carefully sliding his shivering body under her dress. Then she urged Alastair to fasten her laces once more, holding the child in place, before she slipped on her coat, wrapping it around them both. Her arms wrapped around him, rubbing his back through the fabric, warming him as best as she could. Then her gaze moved to his mother. “Is she alive?”
Alastair nodded, then rose and moved closer, checking the woman’s pulse. “But not for much longer,” he warned as his gaze met Deidre’s.
Her jaw tightened and she blinked away tears. “We need to take her back to the castle. She needs Morag.”
At the mention of the old healer who lived hidden somewhere in the woods, Alastair nodded. No one quite knew how to find her, but she had a knack for appearing whenever she was needed. Alastair had no doubt that if they managed to get Miss Harmon back to the castle, Morag would find them there.
Shrugging off his coat, he wrapped it around the half-conscious woman. A low moan escaped her lips as he moved her, bundling her up as best as he could. Then he leaned her back against the wall. “I’ll get the horses.”
Alastair barely felt the cold as he strode back out into the freezing wind, quickly leading over the two horses they’d left by the outer wall of the ruins. When he returned, he found Deidre crouched by Miss Harmon’s side, her right hand brushing over the woman’s arm while the other held on to the child. “Ye need to be strong now. Yer son needs ye. I promise I’ll keep him warm for ye, but ye need to hold on.” Tears rolled down her cheeks, and Alastair wished he could spare his wife the reminder of her own losses.
There had been too many.
Far too many.
How many more could his delicate wife bear? He could only hope that this would not break her.
10
A Mother’s Strength
Settled on the grey gelding, Deidre held on tightly to the child resting against her chest. His body had warmed, and now he slowly began to stir. His arms and legs moved, sometimes slowly and sometimes in soft jerks. Deidre could feel his chest rise and fall with each breath and his little mouth moving against her skin, searching.
He needed to nurse.
Glancing across at Sophie−or Miss Harmon as Alastair insisted on calling her−bundled up in her husband’s arms, Deidre knew that the woman was far too weak to nurse her son. Once they returned to the castle, she would have to find some milk to feed him before he grew too weak.
Deidre’s arms tightened around the boy, and she swallowed the lump in her throat,
willing herself not to picture his small, lifeless body. “I’ll take care of ye,” she whispered to the top of his head, hidden deep in the folds of her coat. “Ye needna worry. All will be well.”
Aurora, her saddle still askew, trotted behind them as they slowly made their way back toward Greystone Castle. The journey was long and arduous, a lingering fear that they would not make it in time always present.
Deidre often met her husband’s gaze and saw there the same fear, the same urgency she felt in her own heart. If only they could rush their horses!
However, Sophie lay slack in Alastair’s arms, one of Deidre’s petticoats wedged between her legs in the hopes of stemming the flow of blood. Still, whenever Deidre looked behind them, she spotted droplets of blood dripping onto the clear, white snow as though leaving a trail for someone to follow.
“She’s growing weaker,” Alastair mumbled, agony in his gaze as it met hers. She could hear the warning in his voice, urging her not to get her hopes up. He feared for her. Deidre knew that, but she would not give up. She could not. Not until all was truly lost.
“I’ll ride ahead and send for help,” she told him, knowing if she held the boy close to her body, she could push her gelding to move faster without endangering the child.
Alastair’s jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on hers, and she could see that he wanted to object. That he worried about her. But he did not say a word. He merely nodded, his gaze warm and comforting, urging her to be careful.
Deidre cast him a grateful smile, then she wrapped her right hand tightly around the child before urging her gelding into a slow trot. Moving with the horse, Deidre managed to keep the boy from being jostled too much, her eyes fixed on the tall walls in the distance. “We can make it, leannan. Hold on to me. I’ll see ye safe.”